


I Should Know Because This Fool's In Love Again

by LittleLottieWrites



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: CLARKE IN A GOWN, Canon Compliant, F/M, Slow Dancing, bellamy in a tux, first kiss trope, formal wear, negotiatons, season 6 fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:15:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLottieWrites/pseuds/LittleLottieWrites
Summary: “Bellamy.” She tilted her head up to look at him, but whatever she was going to tell him next died on her tongue. As her gaze locked with his, he felt an electric current running over his skin like nothing he’d ever felt before her or since. The scent of the flowers in the room was heavy, and he felt like he could stay like this forever. They’d stopped dancing, but he barely noticed. He could feel her breath on his skin, and he was falling all over again. Helen? Hell, Clarke was Aphrodite. Bellamy had never stood a chance.





	I Should Know Because This Fool's In Love Again

**Author's Note:**

> If I can make a suggestion, if you are able to read while listening to music (I cannot), please listen to 'Fools in Love' by Inara George

“Stop pacing. You look nervous.”

“I am nervous,” Bellamy said, trying not to snap at Raven, but it was hard. They had a chance this time, a real chance to start over, to have peace, to really live, and it all depended on this…this…ball. He tugged on the thing around his neck, a frivolous piece of decoration he’d read about but never had the misfortune to be subjected to until this night.

“Well, stop it,” Raven said, straightening the ‘bow tie’ he was seconds away from either ripping off or strangling himself to death with. “This will be easy. A little chit-chat, some smooth-talking, and we’ll be fine. You two are good at that.”

“We used to be,” Bellamy murmured. Raven gave him a small smile, her amber eyes glittering with some secret message he’d never been able to interpret.

“Trust me,” Raven said, stepping back, “You still are.”

They were waiting across the cobbled street from the venue, a vast wrought-iron structure with glass windows that took up most of the walls, allowing anyone a clear view in. Through them, Bellamy could see the various people of Terra whirling across the floor, laughing, talking, glittering like the stars in the sky. Next to them he felt like the blood-soaked, ashen earth they’d left behind, poisonous and ugly and broken beyond repair.

“Here comes Miles,” Raven said, breaking the trance the ballroom had put on him. Bellamy followed her gaze a short ways down the street to where Shaw was walking up to meet them. He was wearing something similar to what Bellamy had been forced to don. The girls didn’t know how lucky they had it. Unlike the two of them, Raven was wearing a deep green dress that bared her shoulders and flared out just above her knees. As usual her hair was tied back, but there was a gentle curl to it that made the style seem elegant. 

“Hey, you.” Raven slid her hands into Shaw’s without any hesitation, reaching up to give him a quick kiss. Bellamy looked back across the street at the gala, feeling as though he were trespassing on a private moment. Something about Shaw softened something in Raven, as though he made everything easier. He used to know that feeling.

“You guys go ahead,” Bellamy said before they could start in on the small talk. “We shouldn’t leave Murphy…unsupervised for too long.”

“He’s got Emori with him,” Raven offered. Bellamy just raised a brow. “Good point. We’re going. You’ll be ok?”

Bellamy nodded and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right behind you as soon as Clarke gets here.”

“See you in there.” Raven gave him one last smile and then the two of them were sweeping across the street towards the light of the gala. He watched them go, wondering what it took to be that happy, if he’d ever get there himself. He used to think so. At one time, he’d been sure that had been his future. He’d watched it slip through his fingers, unable to do anything but watch.

As it turned out, he only had to wait a few moments. He could swear he felt her presence before he truly knew she was there, and briefly wondered how he ever could have thought she was dead. He’d known she had to be dead; nothing could have ever survived the horrific death wave that had swept over the earth, laying waste to every living thing it came in touch with. Except, of course, Clarke did. When they’d heard Eligius’ radio calls, he’d expected Octavia but somehow he hadn’t been surprised it had turned out to be Clarke. He’d known she had to have died in Primfiya, but his heart had never truly believed it, never truly let go. He’d chalked it up to not being able to say goodbye, not realizing the end until after it was already over, but afterwards he wondered if somehow, he’d feel it if Clarke were truly gone, like the hole she’d tear in the universe would swallow him whole and he’d never find his way back out. Like he’d lost his heart and could never get it back.

“Bellamy.”

He turned, and in that moment, he was glad for whatever sixth sense had alerted him to her presence, because if he hadn’t been warned, he was sure his heart would have stopped dead in his chest.

She was beautiful. Earth-shatteringly, breath takingly, heart breakingly beautiful. She always had been, and he’d always thought so, but tonight it was as though she’d taken her best qualities and magnified them a thousand times over. Distantly, in the back of the part of his brain that was still working, Bellamy thought that if Helen of Troy had been real, Clarke would have been her reincarnation. Her short hair had been styled into smooth, gentle waves that framed her face, and something that looked like pearls had been woven in between the locks. She’d done something to her face, something that made her blue eyes even more mesmerizing than he usually thought they were. Her gown was a light blue, one-shoulder affair with gold detailing that cinched at the waist before flowing over her hips to gently kiss the ground. If that weren’t enough, as she came closer, he could see a slit up the side of the skirt that teased at more with every step that she took. 

But more than that was the confidence and strength with which she carried herself, spine straight, shoulders back, like the sea would part for her should she will it, tempered only by an effortless grace. Intelligence sparkled behind those big blue eyes, unmatched by anyone else he’d ever met, drawing him, teasing him, daring him to see what she saw. She was a force of nature, and he could not withstand her.

“Clarke.” His voice sounded strangled to his own ears. He forced himself not to clear his throat and give away just how affected he was. He smiled. “Nice dress.” Understatement. A lie, really. The dress was hardly a blip on his radar, if he was being honest, an accessory to the woman wearing it.

“I remember seeing videos on the ark,” Clarke said, “Of people dressed up, going to award shows or important events. I used to watch them sometimes when I was little and dream about ever having a reason to dress up like that, just once. I never thought…” She grinned, a small crease forming between her brows. “It’s a lot less comfortable than I imagined.”

Bellamy wouldn’t know. He’d never watched any videos other than official broadcasts from the Ark Council or what they watched in school. He had no notion of anything like this.

“You’re telling me,” he said, giving his bow tie another tug. “At least you’re not being strangled to death.”

“It almost makes me miss earth,” Clarke joked, but the light dimmed in her eyes. They did miss earth. It was hard to get used to something so new.

Now Bellamy did clear his throat, as though clearing the image of their lost home from the air.

“Ready to go in?”

Clarke glanced towards the party, calculating, steeling herself for what they were about to step into. “Yeah,” she said as her eyes darted between the dancers, probing them for hidden threats she couldn’t possibly see from where they were. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Bellamy took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the next few hours. He was startled when Clarke took a step towards him.

“Like this,” she said, gently slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. She gave him a gentle tug, and then they were sweeping across the street, Bellamy escorting the commander of death, the hundred’s princess, into the gala. To his surprise, it was a comfortable role to him, but he quickly realized it should be. How often had the two of them covered each other while entering negotiations with one faction of another? The move was smart, presenting a united front to all who had their eyes on them as they glided towards the party, simply another facet of what they had always been.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke murmured as they entered the foyer of the building. The room was ringed in pillars of white stone that reminded Bellamy of the roman buildings he’d read about. Golden tiles shimmered in the electric lights in the ceiling. If anything, the place reminded Bellamy most of the ark in its’ simplicity. Eligius had been a prison ship and had left earth with few artistic vestiges of humanity, more focused on having terra-forming tools than paintings.

Few people lingered, laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Precious gems glittered at their throats, in their hair, their wrists, their fingers. Clarke’s crown of pearls, rather than fading into obscurity, stood out in their simplicity, beautiful but not ostentatious. Next to these people dripping in glitz, she seemed even more ethereal, if such a thing were even possible. The chatting stopped, then picked up with even more fervour than before as people caught sight of them. Clarke was infamous, her reputation having spread quickly after they arrived, but she’d spent most of her time in negotiations with Russel over the terms of their peace. This was supposed to be the culmination of the truce that had been reached, and was their first very public appearance. Bellamy could see them looking her up and down, judging the girl in the gossamer gown against the bloody stories that had travelled amongst their people, eyeing the very visible scars just beneath her collarbone, at the base of her neck, along her bare arms, and he saw them immediately dismiss her as a real threat, a mistake the grounders had made once. Once.

“Sorry for what?” Bellamy asked as he steered Clarke towards the stairs the lead up to the glass ballroom.

“I’m sure you’d rather be here with Echo,” Clarke said. She kept her eyes straight ahead, her face the picture of kind indifference. “It’s the kind of thing you’d want to share with… well. Thank you for doing this with me. I’m sure there’ll be time for the two of you to spend the evening together once we get the posturing out of the way.”

Bellamy swallowed. “Clarke.” He waited until she looked at him. “I ended things with Echo yesterday.”

She looked dumbstruck. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d surprised her. “You what?”

“I ended it.” He gave her a small smile. “Things change. It wasn’t right. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

“Clarke!”

They’d made it to the top of the inner ballroom, the two of them hovering at the top of the stairs. It was huge, with a group of musicians in the far corner and long tables set up against the wall opposite from the windows. Vibrant flowers with blue and violet petals decorated the otherwise sparse room. They hung in garlands from the ceiling, spiralled down the pillars around the edges of the atrium, and dotted the tables. The room was fragrant with them despite the number of people, and there were well over three hundred of them.

“Here we go,” Clarke murmured out of the corner of her mouth, dropping the topic. Bellamy forced himself to smile and shake hands as Russell reached them. The tall, thin man exuded nothing but happiness to have them there, but Bellamy didn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him. Neither, he knew, did Clarke. To anyone else, she was the picture of angelic happiness, a young woman easily swayed by a man more than twice her age, but Bellamy could see the tightening at the corners of her eyes that betrayed her true distrust. 

Russell turned to the room, and with a quick motion, the music that had been playing abruptly ceased. The people in the room below, both his and theirs, turned to look at them. Again, Bellamy noted the chatter that began to build around them, the people barely restraining themselves from outright pointing at them, whispers of who they were and what they’d done. He heard the name ‘Wanheda’ flit around the room, the ghost of death, of a spectre these people knew only the barest about. He could swear he saw the lights flicker at it. He felt Clarke’s hand tighten on his arm, reminding him of the time she’d taken the grounders chip in her own head. She’d reached for him then, too. He gave her a reassuring squeeze back, leaving his hand resting on top of her icy fingers.

“Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen,” Russell called out, sweeping his arm wide. “Welcome to the beginning of a new era, a new tradition, and new life! Tonight we celebrate the union of our brothers and sisters as one people under one sky. Welcome them as you would your own sons and daughters, love them as you would your own husband or wife, and honour them as you would your own Father or Mother. Please join me in ushering in this joyous new era with a toast to our returned comrades. To peace and prosperity, life and love, a new future with new hope!”

“Change can be hard.” Clarke’s voice rang out over the crowd, stopping Russell’s arm mid-air as he began to raise his glass. Wide eyes turned to them, but Bellamy simply smirked. He’d known, almost before she’d spoken, that Clarke would be damned before she let Russell have the last word. “We want to thank you for your patience, your hospitality, but most importantly, for your trust. You gave us a home when we had none, and gave us hope when it was lost. Together, we can build a future our ancestors would be proud of.”

There was the briefest pause before Russell raised his glass flute to the cheers of their people below. They mimicked him, raising their glasses as a cheer went up. Bellamy scanned the crowd and picked out the faces of Raven and Shaw, Murphy and Emori, Jordan, Miller, Jackson, even Abby and Kane, all looking up at the three of them, smiling and laughing, not a hint of fear or concern on their faces. It was what they had always wanted, what they had strived for since landing on the ground. He couldn’t believe it. He really couldn’t. 

But there was Echo’s face turned up at them as well. Hers was the only one that was shuttered, no hint of a smile, of happiness, of hope. No hint of anything. Her face had once again become the cold mask she’d had in place when they’d first met, her features at once impossible to read yet achingly familiar. A part of him still hurt, but another part, a bigger part was at peace. He wished the same for her, but it wasn’t something he could give her. She would have to find it one her own.

The three of them descended the stairs towards their people, Clarke’s hand tight in the crook of his elbow to keep from slipping down the steps. As they reached the floor, a movement in the crowd caught Bellamy’s attention and his gaze shifted as Avery, Russell’s son, weaving his way through the people to meet them. Just behind him was Sasha, the daughter of one of the higher ups in Russell’s council, a tall girl with warm brown skin and deep green eyes. Her black hair had been twisted up into a complicated style that left a few curls loose around her beautiful face, and her gown was a violent shade of red, made all the more striking in contrast to her skin and the bright white of the room behind her.

“May I have the first dance?” Avery asked, bowing his head to Clarke as the music struck up again behind them. The young man held out a hand, and Bellamy felt the slightest squeeze on his arm before Clarke stepped away from him and slid her hand into Avery’s. A part of him wanted to pull her back, to brave the room with her, not after her, but as usual he simply watched her go, firmly reminding himself Clarke could handle herself, trusting her to call for him should she need him.

Instead, he mimicked Avery’s movements, bowing slightly to Sasha and offering his hand. He knew what his role was, what was expected of him.   
“May I have this dance?”  
He watched as she blushed and stepped closer, placing her hand in his. He gingerly placed his hand on her waist and stepped out into the crowd, Sasha gliding along with him.

“I have to apologize,” Bellamy said. “I’m afraid I haven’t had many opportunities to learn how to dance.”

“You’re very light on your feet,” Sasha complimented him, her face tilted up to his. “I was expecting some one a little more…”

“Barbaric?” Bellamy supplied for her. She glanced away and he saw that familiar blush creep up her cheeks again, telling him he wasn’t too far off. He didn’t even blame her, really. Hadn’t he thought the same thing when he’d landed on Earth with the hundred? He guessed he should just be happy it hadn’t fallen into bloodshed, not like last time.

“Your people have been very gracious,” Bellamy said, dispelling Sasha’s embarrassment. “I think we could learn a lot from you.”

“We could learn a lot from each other,” Sasha suggested. He didn’t miss the look in her eyes; apparently her bashfulness didn’t extend to that. He’d seen that look a lot in those first few days on the ground, from a lot of different women. Never from Clarke, though. He’d teased Wells for that look. He used to think it was that moment that sealed his fate for him, as though the stars had heard him and marked him for their amusement. ‘Now she sees you’. He’d studied greek and roman mythology. He well knew how the gods used mortal men for their sport. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he was one of them.

“I hear you have a library,” Bellamy said, carefully side-stepping her offer. “I’d love to see it.”

“It’s small,” Sasha said. She didn’t seem to mind he hadn’t immediately taken up her offer, but he didn’t think he was imagining the gears turning in her mind. “I’m sure you’re well-versed on Terra’s history. Our ancestors didn’t bring many books with them. More than anything it’s a space where oral stories are told and written down. Perhaps your people would be willing to share your stories so that we might add to the shelves.”

“I’d really like that,” Bellamy said with a small smile. The two fell quiet as Sasha pressed closer. Bellamy took the opportunity to sweep the floor, unable to quell the habit. 

Dancers swirled by them in shades of lilac, sage, and butter yellow, laughing and talking as they passed. Some shot Sasha jealous glances; others passed by with haste, as though he might lunge at them should they get too close. He ignored them. Instead he took the opportunity to look over Sasha’s head and scan the crowd for Clarke.  
It took him less than a breath to find her, as though he’d unconsciously been angled towards her all this time. Maybe he had been. Maybe he always was.

She was still with with Avery, but their dynamic was much, much different than his and Sasha’s. The two of them had stopped dancing, and were standing in the middle of the crowd, arms around each other. He could see Avery’s lips moving as Clarke looked up at him, a familiar look on her face. He knew that look. He’d been on the receiving end of it more times than he cared to remember, especially in those early days on the ground. Narrow blue eyes, pursed lips, colour rising in her cheeks, a flinty sharpness she somehow just exuded with every touch, every step, every word, as though she were a storm and she was daring you to try to tame her.

Avery smirked, and Bellamy could swear he felt Clarke’s reaction across the room. He saw her recoil, and he saw Avery reach out and snatch her arm, pulling her back. He tugged her close and leaned down until his lips were by her ear. He couldn’t hear it from where he was but the exchange made Bellamy’s blood run cold.

“Excuse me,” he heard himself say as he pushed Sasha away from him as gently as he could remind himself to. “I have to go.” He was vaguely aware of her saying something, of her fingers on his sleeve, but he was already stepping away from her. He stepped his way through the dancers, trying to be as graceful as his big frame would allow, ignoring the startled and curious stares from their friends. 

“May I cut in?” Bellamy said once he finally reached them. Both of them started, like they’d been caught up in their own maelstrom before he’d approached and forgotten where they were.

“The point of the evening is to get to know each other,” Avery said smoothly, a dangerous glint in his grey eyes. “You and Clarke are already well acquainted.”

“One dance is all I’m asking,” Bellamy insisted. He didn’t break Avery’s glare. “Clarke?”

But rather than become angry, Avery simply raised a brow at Clarke, as though amused by some secret joke Bellamy wasn’t in on. He turned to her, and he was surprised to see her face had gone white.

“I…” She looked between them, as though caught between two impossibilities. Abruptly, a cold mask of decision fell over her features. He recognized that look, too. He was the look of a woman condemned, of an impossible decision made. It was a look completely devoid of any human emotion, and when Clarke wore it, death was never far behind. “Yes, I think we should. Thank you for the dance, Avery.”

“It was my pleasure,” Avery said with another one of his shallow bows. “Perhaps we could have another later on.”

“Perhaps,” Clarke agreed to Bellamy’s surprise. Still, he stepped in where Avery had been standing, gently taking Clarke in his arms and…oh. This had been a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. He’d touched her before, of course. He’d brushed her hair from her face, held her in relief, took her hand in reassurance, but this… Even in those gentle times, there’d been an under-current of violence, a sense of urgency, a feeling too fleeting to ever capitalize on, because all it did was put a big fat target on your forehead. This was different. This was heaven. This was hell. It was too much, too fast. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough, and he very much doubted it ever would be. 

“Thanks.” Clarke’s voice grounded him back in the ballroom, reminded him where they were, who they were. “For stepping in like that.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine. The Clarke he knew would have insisted she could handle herself, would have shook mountains with her righteous anger.

“Mind telling me what that was about?” Bellamy asked as he began taking slow steps. He found his heart is beating in time with the rhythm of the strings, that dancing with Clarke was as easy as breathing.

“Nothing,” Clarke said a little too quickly. A smile she doesn’t mean. “Just a disagreement. It got blown out of proportion.”

“If you’re going to lie to me, you could at least be a little more convincing.” The words could be harsh, but there’s no heat to them. He was more concerned about why she feels like she couldn’t tell him what happened. He spun her once, guiding the two of them towards the edge of the room, towards a hallway. They both knew tonight was going to be overwhelming. So many people, a completely different set of expectations.

“Bellamy.” She tilted her head up to look at him, but whatever she was going to tell him next died on her tongue. As her gaze locked with his, he felt an electric current running over his skin like nothing he’d ever felt before her or since. The scent of the flowers in the room was heavy, and he felt like he could stay like this forever. They’d stopped dancing, but he barely noticed. He could feel her breath on his skin, and he was falling all over again. Helen? Hell, Clarke was Aphrodite. Bellamy had never stood a chance.

And then she stepped out of his arms. The haze that had settled over them shattered, and Clarke backed away, a hand pressed to her mouth. To his surprise he thought he could see tears in her eyes. She backed away quickly, shaking her head, golden curls bouncing.

“I can’t,” she gasped. She grabbed the skirts of her dress and turned down the hall, walking quickly away from him again. Something inside him broke. He couldn’t watch her walk away. Not again.

“Clarke!” He followed her, but now she was running. His legs were longer. He caught up with her just around a corner in the hall, grasping her wrist. He slid his hand down to hers, over the bracelet of pearls, twining his fingers with hers. She wouldn’t look at him. “Clarke. Just tell me. Whatever it is, we can fix it. We can do this together. Just, please…stop running away from me.”

“I can’t,” she finally said again. It was like the words had been wrenched from her core. Her shoulders heave, and he knew if she turned around he’d see that she’s crying. “I can’t do this again.”

Bellamy let the moment wash over him, an inkling of what she’s talking about with it. He waited. He’d waited before. He’d waited for six years, a part of him unwilling to accept the terrible truth of her death. He’d wait for her forever, he thought. He didn’t think he’d be able to help himself. 

Finally, Clarke turned to him. Her lips trembled with barely repressed sobs. Tears trailed down her pale cheeks, but her eyes. Her eyes were bottomless pools of despair. There was no hope, no fire, none of the unyielding determination he’d become used to. He wanted to shield her from whatever had put that look in her eyes, to protect her from whatever made her hurt so much. She’d suffered enough. He can’t bear to see her suffer anymore.  
“Tell me,” he said. He rubbed small circles on the back of her hand with this thumb. He was barely aware he was doing it.

“Avery,” she said. She was still crying, but her voice was strong. “Our peace comes with a condition. And if I don’t agree…”

This was the worst of it, he knew. Not what Avery wanted, but the consequence. They’d dealt with consequences before.

“Tell me,” Bellamy said again. Just like with the speech, he knew what it would be before she said it. It had always been that way with them.

“They’ll kill you,” Clarke breathed. It was as though she was afraid that by saying the words aloud they would come true. “He said they would make it look like an accident, that no one would ever know, but I would… He said I was the angel of death, and as such, your life was in my hands. Bellamy…” Her voice broke on his name.

He didn’t even care. “What’s the condition?”

“I have to wed him.”

Bellamy was already shaking his head. “No way.”

“I have to.”

“Clarke, no.” Bellamy pulled her to him, and for once she let him. She buried her face in his shoulder as sobs wracked her small frame. “I won’t let you become a slave as trade for my life,” Bellamy said. “I won’t let you do this. We will figure a way around this, Clarke. I swear to you, we will. We’ve been in tougher scrapes than this. As long as we’re together, there’s hope.”

Clarke leaned back and tilted her face up to his. Even now he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She was a miracle.

“You still have hope?” Her eyes searched his face for the answer. He only knew one way to convey it. So he cupped her beautiful face and leaned down and he kissed her.

It was like his world exploded. Like everything before that moment that had been just possibility had exploded into reality. He felt his blood boil under his skin, felt lightning travelling over his skin, but most importantly, he felt her kissing him back. Clarke had wrapped her arms around his neck, twined her fingers in his hair, pressed her body against his.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her more firmly against him, six years of longing bursting forth in a tidal wave he couldn’t hold back. How had he ever convinced himself he wasn’t in love with Clarke Griffin?

He finally stopped kissing her, desperately trying to remind himself where they were, what they were trying to accomplish, what the new stakes were. He noted with some satisfaction that Clarke appeared just as dazed as he felt.

“We can’t,” she whispered, but she was still pressed against him, still tracing his freckles with a finger. Her eyes conveyed a seriousness her body couldn’t. “I can’t. I can’t be what kills you.”

“If they kill me, it will be their fault, not yours,” Bellamy said fiercely. “I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist, Clarke. I tried it, and it almost killed me. I’ll let you go, if it’s what you truly want, but if not, please, don’t ask me to watch you leave again.”

Hesitantly, she nodded. “Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Ok. I won’t,” she promised. “As long as we figure it out.”

“We will,” Bellamy swore. “Together.”

“Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> WHOO BOY. I hope y'all like this. I love it. I spent SO MUCH TIME ON THIS BAD BOY. This is my love letter to Bellarke, y'all. They deserve some happiness.


End file.
